


The Definition of Insanity

by PiecesOfScully



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, SMUTTY SMUT, but it was also written to be realistic, it's smut, pre revival, revival era, so if it hurts you in any way then i've succeeded, this was written to hurt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-09
Updated: 2017-03-09
Packaged: 2018-10-01 11:09:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10188620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PiecesOfScully/pseuds/PiecesOfScully
Summary: It's pre-revival smut.  The end.





	

The terrible thing about long days is that they lead to short nights, she thinks to herself as she adjusts the pillow beneath her head. The muscles along her arms feel weakened, strained from hours of assisting patients, while her lower back throbs in time with her heartbeat from hours spent hunched over at her desk. Their unremarkable house moans under the furious summer winds that blow outside, it’s joists and beams vocalizing the ache she feels within her.

Just outside of their bedroom a familiar creak of the floorboards resounds through a brief moment of silence, and her breath catches in her chest. 

Not tonight, she thinks. They haven’t spoken to each other in over 4 days, a record for them, even the silent communication they’ve perfected over the years having fallen mute, empty. Whatever apology he has to carelessly offer tonight can wait; she doesn’t want to hear it.

The bedroom door squeaks as it’s eased open, and the room is flooded with light from the hallway for a moment, before abruptly going dark again. 

His presence radiates off of him, dominating the room like a black hole, sucking what little life is left in the room as he stands on the opposite side of the bed, staring at the back of her. Excitement, or even dread, would be a welcome feeling right now, but in her quick search for emotion all that she’s met with is numbness. 

She concentrates on breathing evenly, fooling him into thinking she’s fast asleep with the gentle rise and fall of her chest, as he shifts his weight from foot to foot, weighing his options. Her eyes squeeze shut as she feels him slide into their bed behind her, the mattress dipping beneath his foreign weight. 

He’s not here to mumble through another half-assed excuse for his absence. 

She tries to remember how long it’s been since he’s laid next to her, warmed her cold flesh with his body heat and tangled limbs, but quickly loses count of the number of weeks. The comforter shifts as he moves beneath it sending a cold puff of air to flood the length of her body, and, for a multitude of reasons, she chastises herself for not wearing more than a simple t-shirt and panties to bed.

He lay on his side behind her, and she can hear his quick and shallow breaths punctuating the sheet of silence that’s spread throughout the room. She wishes for the wind that’s suddenly died to pick back up and drown out the sound of his breathing, each exhale that’s slowly fueling her blood pressure to rise. So many words prickle her tongue behind her lips, begging to be released, but she remains quiet. Regardless of how many things that she’s dying to say, there is nothing to actually be said. 

She hears the rustling of skin on sheets behind her before she feels his fingertips along her bare thigh.

Not tonight, Mulder, she thinks. She focuses on breathing evenly, ignoring his touch.

His fingertips trail down to the delicate skin behind her knee, then back up slowly to the very edge of her panties. She shifts slightly at the sensation, her body reacting in favor to what her mind is desperately trying to reject.

He inches closer to her, pressing himself along the back of her, and she stifles a gasp at the familiarity of the overwhelming warmth of him. She shifts slightly under the blanket, pulling away from him and burying her face further into her pillow, but he follows. Through the worn cotton of her t-shirt she feels his heartbeat against her back, it’s heavy thumping reverberating through her as his face burrows into the back of her hair. His fingers continue their painfully slow trail up her thigh, pausing again at the edge of her panties, then descending to her knee. 

His lips feel feverish as they press to the nape of her neck, and his fingertips graze back up towards her hip, this time continuing over her hipbone to snake under the t-shirt. Her skin along her lower abdomen sizzles under his touch and she forces herself to think about work. Doctor Martin is going to be out sick tomorrow, the patient in 204 is going to require another round of antibiotics, Nurse Martinez is having-

Her mouth betrays her, allowing a hiss to escape from between clenched teeth as his hand finds it’s way to her breast, squeezing the tender flesh and she fights the urge to arch into his hand. He gently grinds into the back of her, his erection pressing against her ass and she hears his breath hitch in his chest at the contact. She squeezes her eyes shut tighter, willing the sharp throbbing between her legs to subside as his thumb grazes over her hardened nipple. 

I hate you, she thinks as she presses her ass back against him, meeting his next gentle thrust. I don’t even know who you are anymore, and I hate you. 

On the surface she knows this desperate attempt at reconnection will prove to be to be futile, just as it has each time before. Deep down, however, the tiniest glimmer of hope sparks alive under his touch, and she cringes. The definition of insanity plays in her mind like a broken record, repeating the words like the lyrics of a sad tune over and over again: The act of doing something repeatedly and expecting a different outcome.

Her hands clench into fists beneath her pillow as his own trails down her sternum, drawing an imaginary line with his fingertip to the soft skin of her belly, over her bellybutton to where her legs meet. His tongue darts out to taste the exposed skin of her shoulder as he begins to trace a lazy figure eight over her cotton panties from her clit to her dampness. 

She inhales sharply through her nose as her hips jerk forward into his featherlight touch, and he cups her mons pubis in response, pulling her back against him as he grinds himself roughly against her. 

Fuck you, she thinks. 

His hand slips beneath the waistband of her panties and pulls them swiftly down her legs to her ankles, and she kicks them away, efficiently ending the war between her mind and body with the jerk of her foot. She grips the pillow tighter while arching her back and he’s inside of her. 

Fuck me, she thinks.

Any preambles of ease are forgotten as she’s filled with every inch of him, his pelvis pressed tightly to her ass. She feels his hand snake over her pillow and grip her shoulder, his fingers digging into the skin above her clavicle as he pulls her to him, pushing deeper inside of her. 

She throws her leg over his, exposing herself, as her fingers find her clit, circling over and over and over.

His other hand grips her hip as he pushes himself into her again and again, each thrust feeling harder and deeper than the last. The delicate skin between her shoulder and neck burns sharply under his grasp and she’s positive she’ll have marks there in the morning that not even heavy concealer will be able to cover. The mere thought of being marked by him sends her fingers to work faster, matching his pace swipe for thrust. 

The muscles in her back strain as she arches further, and she shatters. Her body combusts within itself, waves of orgasm rippling through her and clenching around him as he pumps into her with a frenzy. Moments later he slows before falling still, the only movement is the heaving of his chest and the feeling of him pulsing inside of her, pouring what little he has left to give into her. 

She closes her eyes and pushes her face into her pillow as he presses a kiss to her shoulder, focusing again on her controlled breathing as she feels him ease out of the bed. She hears the heavy thwump of a towel falling to the floor, then the rustle of clothing as he dresses himself. 

The dampness trickles from inside of her, trailing slowly down the back of her thigh. She takes a deep breath as she drowns in shame, the self-hatred she feels at her body for betraying her because it knows how good it is, how good they are together.

How good we WERE together! her mind screams. He’s become a stranger.

He stands there and she feels his gaze fall onto her back, watching her, waiting. She remains motionless as the floorboards creak and the room is flooded with light. The door closes quietly, and, once again the room falls dark. 

Her chest burns as she releases the breath she’d been holding and gingerly rolls to the other side of the bed. His side. What used to be his side. His pillowcase feels soft against her face as she nuzzles into it, expecting to be engulfed with his scent, expecting to feel the dampness of her tears, but finds neither. 

His scent, like her tears, disappeared a long time ago.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you @kateyes224 and @bohoartist for the beta work. Y'all inspire me daily.


End file.
